May 23, 2010

1543 - 15.11.38'N x 076.58.79'W



By Matthew Maples


Whoom! Whoom! Whoom! A klaxon alarm sounds as great iron gates with rusty rivets the size of fists, seal shut behind our stern. We are now penned in, within the no-frills, fortress-like canal lock. Directly in front of us, looming over us, is a large cargo ship, the Iroquois Princess.

The sides of the canal are abuzz, as half a dozen small locomotives scurry into position, back on forth on tracks like hobbled steel beetles. Metal cables, like twisted-steel spider webs run from their sides. They are connected to our dock lines by a team of canal line-handlers. Their machine-gun paced Spanish dominate the air as their foreman in white waves his VHF radio like a conductor of a city symphony.
 It is something of a symphony; this water lock on the canal.

Our vessel holds her position as well as she can with her engine and bow thrusters - the locomotives on our sides check our drift with their steely tendrils. It is now barely noticeable, but the watchful eye can begin to see the water level begin to rise as our ship, like a toy-boat in a filling bathtub, floats up with the water.

Alarms sound, and bells toll on the locomotives above a background hum of draining water and engines straining in the Panama heat. It is a cacophonous industrial symphony in its totality; an ode to the industrial age and to a lynchpin of engineering and commerce; the Panama Canal.


Finally the gates open. Our ship now moves forward, under escort by the locomotives. Finally, they break off their cables and our ship motors alone. The claustrophobia of the busy lock is left in our wake as the canal widens; concrete and steel give way to green jungle fauna and iron-colored soil. The deck is lined with our crew - gibbering excitedly with camera shutters whirring. The Panamanian line handlers, meanwhile, sit back in the shade of our deck - some nap, while others read the newspaper as they await our arrival at the next lock. It may be just another day on the job for them, but for most of us on the Europa, the Panama Canal is a must-see event.

The jungle-strewn banks almost seem to emit the steamy heat we feel on our faces. Unseen birds of paradise make exotic calls and songs from the thick jungle tree-line. The display of nature is juxtaposed against the big cargo carriers that pass by us like horizontal skyscrapers floating down the canal.
 Our passage through the canal on May 19 was, at one point, almost too exciting. I was standing on the foredeck as our ship was descending in the last lock. Hearing a loud, hollow like THUD I turned around just in time to see one of our stern lines part in two! A locomotive with a steel cable had pulled apart our dock line. Our stern swayed toward the wall as we lost the steadying control of that locomotive. Jumping into action our crew put held large inflatable fenders on our rails and braced for impact.

Thankfully however, no impact was going to occur thanks to the quick use of our engine and bow thrusters to hold us in the middle of the canal while a replacement line was hastily rigged.
 Besides that hackle-raising incident, our passage went smoothly. It took most of the morning and afternoon to go from the banks of the Pacific Ocean to the Atlantic. Tom Fitzgibbon, aided by Christina, broke up the afternoon with another deck auction - the proceeds of the auction, along with the one held previously, is going to be donated to an Ecuadorean reforestation program.
 Finally, after the last set of three locks, we exited the canal and our ship entered the waters of the Atlantic and the port of Colon. We dropped the hook for the night.
 I don't think many of us were looking forward to the next morning...the celebrations of another voyage completed are often, ultimately, capped with the departures of our crew and friends, both old and new. This time was even larger than most, as a substantial proportion of the professional crew were switched out. At least two-thirds of our voyage crew left with them, on board some chartered water ferries to Colon.

It is always heart-sinking to part ways with shipmates that you have come to know so well on our ship, our small, traveling community. You never really want them to leave, and most of them are reluctant to depart our decks as well, though many of them are eager to see their friends and family back home.
 In a swirl of grateful handshakes, tight hugs and too many kisses, our shipmates departed. As their boat left we waved goodbye, and them, to us. As they left our rail we ran to the stern so that we could continue waving. It seemed like we were waving forever, as neither group of us was willing to be the first to put their hands back down.

Thankfully though, goodbyes on the Europa are often temporary - as long as this ship sails, many of those who sail her return time and again, familiar faces, perpetually drawn to the familiar ship that unites all of us and our experiences. 
With only about 1/3 of that morning's number remaining, a silence fell over the ship as the crew quietly got back to work and the new, smaller voyage crew settled in.

Among those who left on that rainy morning were Captain Klaas, Marianne and Sirius. We now have a new captain to take us to North America; Captain Robert Vos. We have a new cook as well, to keep our bellies happy over the many miles ahead of us; 
It is now our fourth day since leaving Panama. We have been motoring almost the entire time. We expect fairer winds soon to take us through the Caribbean and on to Bermuda. We have sunny, calm weather though - perfect for catching up on varnishing and painting.  Our voyage crew have been very eager to help, and they can be seen at all hours scraping, sanding and seizing grommets to blocks. They are even on the same "six on, six off" watch schedule that the professional crew is on.


I have been spending most of my working hours under the headrig scraping away the rust on our bobstay bottle screw (part of a "stay" that provides support for the bowsprit and rig). I like it out there, farther out in the rig then even the figurehead with my legs less than a dozen feet from the ocean. I am just hanging on the bosun's chair, on these sunny days, with a brilliant blue Caribbean sea in every direction passing beneath my hanging feet.